


Netflix and Chill

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Prompt Fic, apology cocoa, gratuitous misunderstanding of slang, if I misunderstood it then chances are Twelve misunderstood it as well, literal interpertations of things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:58:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor chose the wrong time to begin meditating and an even worse time to get good at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Netflix and Chill

Clara wasn’t sure what had gotten the Doctor in such a mood, but when she walked into the TARDIS that Wednesday all she found was a sulking Time Lord. He was in his wingback chair, legs draped over one arm rest and curled up against the other, not even so much as giving her a hello.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked, trailing her hand over the flight console as she walked around it towards his seat. He didn’t move and continued saying nothing. “We going to go have an adventure today, aren’t we?”

Silence.

“Oh, come on, where’s that smile you’re always wearing these days?” she laughed. She lightly climbed the steps to the upper deck and ruffled his wild hair. Had it been neat and down Clara might have felt bad, but it was already a pyroclastic fluff of grey without a single speck of product—the prefect bedhead.

He refused to respond, which only made her want to get a reaction even more. She booped his nose, spun around the chair, and even tickled his sides. He remained motionless, which sparked her ire quicker than she’d like to ever admit.

“ _Fine_ , be that way,” Clara hissed. “I have a lot of marking to do anyhow!” She stormed out of the TARDIS, slamming the door behind her. The Doctor jumped at the sudden sound, falling out of his chair as his trance broke.

“Clara…?” he blurted out, looking around the room. He stood and walked over to the console in confusion. “Huh… I thought I heard her just now…”

The TARDIS wheezed and he smacked his forehead. “Of course—the one time I actually get this meditation stuff down and I mess things up…” He rushed out the door and into Clara’s flat, only to find her not within the sitting room. Kitchen? No. Toilet? No. Peeking inside her bedroom, he was very careful to move silently—he’d gotten hit with too many pillows in the past to have not learned. She was lying face-down on her bed, an aura of evil emanating from her. “Uh… Clara…?”

“Oh, so _now_ you want to talk,” she mumbled into her pillow. “I had a hard day at work and I don’t need your mood tics to make things worse.”

The Doctor took out his flash cards and began to flip through them. “I… uh… I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t care, Clara, but I finally got the knack of this mediation thing and…”

“…and _what_?”

“I didn’t exactly hear you at first,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven,” she said. Despite her choice of words, she didn’t move.

“So… uh… are we going to pop off in the TARDIS now? I think this is about the time we do that, yeah?”

“I don’t feel like it anymore; mood spoiled.” She rolled over onto her side and curled up, cuddling a pillow. “Maybe next week.”

“Oh, okay,” he replied. The Doctor carefully backed out of the room and walked down the hall towards the TARDIS. He was nearly at the door when he stopped, spun on his heel, and went into the kitchen instead.

Rummaging around, the Doctor found himself some supplies and got cracking. Before long he had an apology tray consisting of two mugs filled with steaming, sweet, hot chocolate and some Jammie Dodgers that were arranged delicately on a paper doily (the doily he had to run back to the TARDIS for, all penguin arms and worry). He carefully carried it back to Clara’s room, where he found she had her eyes shut in an attempt to ignore everything around her. Once he was on the other side of the bed he set the tray down on the mattress and sat next to it, stretching out his legs.

“What are you doing now?” she muttered.

“You’re right: we do go out on an exorbitant amount of adventures, don’t we?” he replied. Grabbing the remote to her television, he turned it on and waited for the appropriate prompt screen. “Netflix and chill?”

Clara sat up and stared at him, just in time to watch him pop a biscuit in his mouth. He held out one of the mugs, handle towards her, and gave her a cheeky smile.

“Yeah,” she said, accepting the cocoa. She leaned back into her mass of pillows and leaned over as much as she could, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder. “That sounds nice.”


End file.
